Lunchtime Conversations From The Office
When you're on deadline at the office, slowly going mad, strange conversations can occur, such as the following sample from today, submitted for your perusal:
13:05
R is hovering near my desk, and then looks at me.
R: "I've got nuts everywhere."
Me: "I didn't need to know that."
R: "...in my mouth."
13:20
Earlier in a rather soul-draining day, a suggestion is made (not by me) that we should all quit our jobs and go and start a yoghurt farm (I'm not really sure why yoghurt (or a farm), but anyway).
Later, as things become progressively worse, the following conversation occurs:
M: "Let's all leave now and go and live on the yoghurt farm."
Me: "I don't want to farm yoghurt, but I will go and live on the farm, as long as I can have Internet access to do my own thing."
J: "...what are those people in America?"
Me: "The Amish. I find them quite charming."
M: "They don't have computers. You won't have Internet access."
Me: "I didn't say I want to be the Amish, I said they're charming."
13:33
J: "Kalahari[.net] has just sent me book suggestions for Valentine's. They're all sex books." [J reads some of the titles aloud.]
Me: "Why is that? Why would they send that? Have you bought books like that from them before? I don't get emails like that..."
J: "No. I've never bought any of these books..." [Reads more titles aloud.]
... [I'm snipping some inappropriate stuff. Children may be reading this!]
M: "First you get a love letter from some guy [an errant email received yesterday that was sent to the wrong person], then you get book suggestions from Kalahari..."
Me: "The universe is trying to tell you something. I wonder what that is?"
13:39
J: "Sometimes, when faced with yet another [a certain type of job we do] I think perhaps it might be better to go off and vomit for three days [rather than do the job]."
Me: "Actually I don't get the urge to throw up so much as crawl under my desk in the foetal position."
P: "Show us."
Me: "I'm not doing it for your amusement."
P: "Not? How selfish is that?"
13:48
R and I have a disagreement with P as to whether P has a DVD writer in his Mac.
I go to his machine to prove him wrong and point out that he, indeed, does have a DVD writer so he can pretty much write anything (CDs, DVDS). He expresses great, excited surprise (as only he can).
Me: (waving hands emphatically in the air): "Oh! Now we're going to have all sorts of things happening."
R: "Smoke's going to start coming out of that machine.... You'll need a plastic protective device..."
14:20
The art department is right next us, and we're only separated by a thin wall, so half the time we can hear snippets of conversations (which I would do well to remember for reasons of personal preservation, but never do). We overhear one of the art people asking, in the art room, where a job bag is. She then walks all the way around to get to our office to see if we have it.
J (before she can speak): "I have it here."
Art person: "I think we need a porthole in the wall."
Me: "A porthole, or a portal?" [I imitate zapping things through a portal.]
M: "I want a portal so I can go home."
Me: "...and not come back?"
M: "No, so I can go forward to the weekend."
Me: "That's a time portal. That's a bit more difficult."
13:05
R is hovering near my desk, and then looks at me.
R: "I've got nuts everywhere."
Me: "I didn't need to know that."
R: "...in my mouth."
13:20
Earlier in a rather soul-draining day, a suggestion is made (not by me) that we should all quit our jobs and go and start a yoghurt farm (I'm not really sure why yoghurt (or a farm), but anyway).
Later, as things become progressively worse, the following conversation occurs:
M: "Let's all leave now and go and live on the yoghurt farm."
Me: "I don't want to farm yoghurt, but I will go and live on the farm, as long as I can have Internet access to do my own thing."
J: "...what are those people in America?"
Me: "The Amish. I find them quite charming."
M: "They don't have computers. You won't have Internet access."
Me: "I didn't say I want to be the Amish, I said they're charming."
13:33
J: "Kalahari[.net] has just sent me book suggestions for Valentine's. They're all sex books." [J reads some of the titles aloud.]
Me: "Why is that? Why would they send that? Have you bought books like that from them before? I don't get emails like that..."
J: "No. I've never bought any of these books..." [Reads more titles aloud.]
... [I'm snipping some inappropriate stuff. Children may be reading this!]
M: "First you get a love letter from some guy [an errant email received yesterday that was sent to the wrong person], then you get book suggestions from Kalahari..."
Me: "The universe is trying to tell you something. I wonder what that is?"
13:39
J: "Sometimes, when faced with yet another [a certain type of job we do] I think perhaps it might be better to go off and vomit for three days [rather than do the job]."
Me: "Actually I don't get the urge to throw up so much as crawl under my desk in the foetal position."
P: "Show us."
Me: "I'm not doing it for your amusement."
P: "Not? How selfish is that?"
13:48
R and I have a disagreement with P as to whether P has a DVD writer in his Mac.
I go to his machine to prove him wrong and point out that he, indeed, does have a DVD writer so he can pretty much write anything (CDs, DVDS). He expresses great, excited surprise (as only he can).
Me: (waving hands emphatically in the air): "Oh! Now we're going to have all sorts of things happening."
R: "Smoke's going to start coming out of that machine.... You'll need a plastic protective device..."
14:20
The art department is right next us, and we're only separated by a thin wall, so half the time we can hear snippets of conversations (which I would do well to remember for reasons of personal preservation, but never do). We overhear one of the art people asking, in the art room, where a job bag is. She then walks all the way around to get to our office to see if we have it.
J (before she can speak): "I have it here."
Art person: "I think we need a porthole in the wall."
Me: "A porthole, or a portal?" [I imitate zapping things through a portal.]
M: "I want a portal so I can go home."
Me: "...and not come back?"
M: "No, so I can go forward to the weekend."
Me: "That's a time portal. That's a bit more difficult."
Labels: At The Office
posted by Mandy J Watson at 4:05 PM
Permanent link |
9 Comments:
At least you're only going slightly mad :)
LOL. Opinions vary.
Hmm...you're right. It is. Some stuff just can't be published, and some of it happens so fast that I can't write it all down quickly enough. This is what happens when you have four (sometimes more) witty people trapped in a room all day with no ventilation.
I knew you'd go there.
My Google ads are up to about $9, I think, from the past year. Whoo hoo! I should hit the minimum cheque requirement sometime in...um...2016...?
BTW, is this a new low for us? Taking the normal email banter public, I mean.
You are absolutely awful!
(For people new to the blog, he's in Ireland and I'm in South Africa (and I have proof that I haven't left), so he's lying.)
BTW, you know, I could actually delete your comment, but I won't. Let the world see your true colours. Let them understand what you put me though all the time. And yet I remain your friend. There is much wrong with me...
Nice try. Anyone reading this who has a Blogger account (which is most of the people) knows that I can delete you from my blog existence with a couple of clicks. It's almost a religious experience.
Heh heh. Thanks.
I post sporadically (only when I feel I have something to say), but I hope to see you back here!
Words fail me. Sadly they don't fail you.
Because they should.
Stop posting in all my blog comment spots all at once. Do you know how hard it is to find where you've randomly left your little grubby word fingerprints so that I can then rescue the integrity of my posts?
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